


Jump A Little Lighter

by inlovewithnight



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-08
Updated: 2009-06-08
Packaged: 2017-10-15 15:04:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/162026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight





	Jump A Little Lighter

They don't roll out of bed until three in the afternoon, and that's only because Gunn needs to pee and Fred wants to check the mail in case one of the dozen people who owe them money has decided to pay up.

He takes care of his business and comes down to the lobby just as she's making her way back across the courtyard, a sheaf of envelopes in one hand. She's wearing what she grabbed off the floor—his undershirt, his boxers. Her free hand's clutching the waistband at one hip, gathering the excess fabric to keep them from sliding down.

She's got her hair twisted up into a rough knot behind her head, and as she steps into the lobby silhouetted against the afternoon light he's not quite sure who he sees, for a minute, the lines and angles of her left ambiguous and the details stripped away.

"I think this is all junk," she says, fanning the envelopes and looking at the return addresses. "Except for the one that's a bill." She glanced up, pausing and then smiling slightly. "What?"

"You look good." He grins as she rolls her eyes and tosses the mail onto the counter.

"I look _gross_." She points at him, trying to cut off his counterargument before it starts. "I'm still all covered in sweat and vampire dust and demon goop, and I'm wearing your dirty old _underwear_. I smell. I need a shower and a trip to the laundromat before I can be in any category except gross." She reaches up to touch her hair, wrinkling her nose. "Maybe two showers."

"All I'm hearing is blah, blah, blah." He crosses over to her slowly, taking his time, liking the way the worn fabric of the undershirt clings to the curve of her breasts, the way the shorts slide loosely around her hips as she steps back and leans on the counter. "You look amazingly sexy."

"You're crazy," she says, poking him in the chest. "And coming from me, that means something."

"Blah, blah, blah." He catches her around the waist and boosts her up onto the counter, and she promptly wraps her legs around him, pulling him in close. "Wearing my dirty clothes means you smell like me, you know that? That's hot."

She rolls her eyes again and thumps her heel against his back. "Oh, so this is some kind of alpha-male territory-marking thing?"

"There's a right answer and a wrong answer to that one." He tilts his head and studies her for a minute, holding out until her eyes narrow in warning. "I'm not gonna risk it."

"Smart man." She's about to say something else, but it catches in her throat as his hand slides up her thigh. "Oh."

"The thing about boxers is they're designed for easy access." She jumps when his hand crosses the skin where her thigh meets her groin, her legs tightening around him.

"Because guys are lazy," she says, her voice a little rougher but not giving in yet.

"We're efficient."

"You're lazy."

"That's not true." His fingers slide through the opening at the fly and brush against rough hair and soft skin. She bites her lip, watching him, and he leans in to nuzzle at her neck. "Can think of a few things I give my all."

"Are you going to make me a list?" She shifts on the countertop, her heels sliding up and down his back slowly as his fingers move. "Charles."

"Get wet so fast for me," he whispers against her neck, and she makes a sound low in her throat. He traces his tongue over her pulse as he slides one finger inside her, rubbing his thumb in lazy circles against her clit. She tilts her head back, exhaling roughly and running her hands over his shoulders.

The thin fabric of the boxers slides down off her hips as she moves again, trying to get his hand exactly where she wants it. He follows her unspoken cues as best he can, and when her breath hitches and her fingers tighten on his shoulders he knows he's got it right and settles into a rhythm, turning his head to kiss along her collarbones, left exposed by the way the neckline of the undershirt falls low over her breasts.

"Charles," she says again, low and desperate, and he picks up the tempo, adds a little more pressure, does all of the things he knows she likes until her hips buck and she tightens around his fingers. He finds her mouth again, kissing her deeply until she gently pushes him back, smiling with satisfaction.

He eases his hand away and twists his fingers in the material of the boxers, wiping them clean. "Easy access."

"Efficient." She nods, sliding down from the counter and taking his hand. "Let's go upstairs and you can show me some other stuff you're not lazy about."

He falls into step behind her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Absolutely."

"And then we can take a shower," she says, squeezing his hand, "and go to the laundromat."

He groans and moves his free hand to her waist, catching his thumb in the waistband of the shorts and splaying his fingers over her skin. "Fred, didn't I make it pretty clear that you're hot as hell in these?"

"I can be hot as hell in clean ones, baby." She grins at him and tugs him up the stairs. "Promise."  



End file.
